Lora of Two Worlds

'He... he moves!' Vivienne Locke clapped her hand to her mouth in fear, and drew back without cease. 'The dead rise! The dead rise!' 'How can this be? He has not even his head.' The whole room was filled with cries of utter panic. Some Watchmen, frightened out of their wits, flung their arms and legs about, and ran madly for the door. Dane cried out for help, staggered against a chair and all but overturned it, and was near to falling. Elara's apricot eyes were wide as could be, and her mouth gaped wide enough to hold a walnut. Even Broderick, whose face never changed, I saw his pupils shrink a little. At that moment, the corpse that knelt upon the table was slowly raising its right hand, as if it held an unseen knife, and was hewing at its own neck without cease! At first the motion was small. Only the wrist trembled. Then, by the aid of the elastic bands, the whole arm began to move, and hewed again and again at the neck. The muscles of a man can remember a deed, even as one who has ridden a carriage for years will still work the pedals without thought. At the moment of death, the central nerve perishes, and the magnetic field within the body falls to ruin in a flash. Yet, as a disc records a sound, the body keeps a small fragment of the memory of the muscle. Of course, the memory of the muscle differs from man to man. Some corpses, rotten beyond hope, or with a broken spine, cannot be made to undergo the Art of the Risen Corpse. But this corpse, after death, had its muscles grown stiff, and kept a delicate tension. It was well-nigh the perfect subject for the Art of the Risen Corpse! As I thought thus, there came into my heart a thread of pride, as a craftsman who has finished a perfect work of art. I knew this bent of mind was somewhat unnatural. But they who walk the path of the thanatologist are, more or less, somewhat unlike common men in their hearts. Else they could not eat from this bowl! I was about to set the matter before Vivienne Locke. I looked back, and she was gone. The door stood wide. No few Watchmen had fled in fear, and were crying out in the corridor. I asked, 'Has Vivienne Locke gone out?' Dane pointed at the floor. I looked, and was hard put to keep from laughing. Vivienne Locke had fainted clean away. She lay spread-eagled upon the ground, her eyes turned up white. All that cold and proud air of hers was gone without a trace. 'With a constitution like this, she calls herself a pathologist?' I said, in scorn. 'Even so...' Elara was pale with fear, but had not lost her wits as the others had. 'Soren, make that corpse stop. It is too dreadful!' 'Wait. Let me set it down in the rune-recording stone, lest she deny her word by and by.' I took a short passage in the rune-recording stone. If this were set upon some wraith-talking circle, it would frighten a great many folk. When that was done, I drew out one of the runic magnetic needles from the corpse. The corpse, as if its power had been cut off, stopped all at once. Only one arm remained held high in the air. 'Mother of mercy! Most frightful!' Dane drew a breath of relief. 'Soren, you should not frighten us so. You might have told me sooner.' 'Did I not warn you?' 'How was I to know it would be such a ghastly sight...' So saying, Dane gave a great sneeze. The three of us wore cloaks, but he alone wore a tunic. I said, 'Have a care you do not take a head-cold. Go to the carriage and fetch a cloak.' 'No matter. My constitution is good.' Dane rubbed his shoulder with his palm. I roused Vivienne Locke. She had taken a great fright. The moment she woke, she scrambled back upon the floor, and cried in panic, 'Come not near! Come not near!' 'It is I!' I spoke to comfort her. Vivienne Locke's mask hung awry. She cast a glance at the corpse behind me, and her lips trembled as she spoke. 'You... do you know some manner of witchcraft?' I laughed, and set the matter before her in brief. At the last I said, 'If you doubt it, you have dealings with corpses often enough. You may try it yourself next time.' 'Nay, nay!' She waved her hands hard. 'I believe. I believe.' 'The dead man cut off his own head. You grant it now?' I asked. She nodded, and then looked upon me with eyes of doubt. 'But it cannot be. There are many nerves in the neck. He used but a common kitchen knife. It could not cut the neck clean through in one stroke. By all reason, the deed should have stopped at half.' 'You speak truth. And that is the very meaning of my proof!' I looked upon all in the room, and spoke word by word: 'The dead man was, at that hour, held in command of his body by another.' Elara was greatly shaken. 'Do you mean mesmerism?' 'Not mesmerism. I think it is some dark art that can lord it over the body, and make the dead do these things against his will.' So saying, I lifted the white sheet. 'Look you at the faces of the male and female dead in the hour of their death. Are they not full of pain?' Vivienne Locke rose, drew near, and said, 'In sooth it is so. The faces of the dead are, in truth, full of pain beyond measure.' Elara cast a glance at the door. After what had passed, no few Watchmen had fled. There remained but four or five. She said, 'Should we not now look into the evidence?' 'Be not hasty. I have yet one thing to prove.' I asked Vivienne Locke, 'Have you tested the soul marks?' Vivienne Locke nodded. 'The fellows of the trace-examination hall have done it. Upon the bodies and garments of the dead there were only their own soul marks. No stranger's were found.' 'Then let us prove it once more. Go and bring me an alchemical spirit-lamp,' I commanded. Vivienne Locke gave answer and went. Elara laughed. 'Soren, this stroke of shaking the hill to startle the tiger is most potent. The maid has not now one word of protest.' 'She was haughty before. To give her a fright is well.' I drew from the bag the olive oil, the Wood-Butterfly, and the pot. I poured much oil into the pot, and then put in the Wood-Butterfly. Dane asked, 'Soren, your order in frying food is wrong. The oil must be hot before the food goes in.' 'Hold your tongue! Come and help,' I said. 'How?' Dane asked. 'Hold the pot for me,' I said. Vivienne Locke brought the alchemical spirit-lamp. I set the lamp beneath the pot and lit it. Soon the oil grew hot. The Wood-Butterfly within was fried with a sizzling sound. Smoke rose without cease, and clung to the walls of the pot. After some five or six minutes, I saw that Dane's hands were numb with weariness. I said it was enough, and put out the lamp. I found a runic carving knife, and scraped the oil-ash from the walls of the pot. There was about two ounces of it. Elara said, 'Soren, to watch you at an autopsy is, in sooth, a pleasure. Every step is full of meaning.' 'To stand and look on, of course it seems a sport,' I said lightly. 'You are without heart or lung! Did I not help?' 'Did you help?' Elara stammered. 'Did I not hand you things but now?' 'You call that help?' I could not forbear a laugh. Elara glared at me, out of all patience. I bade Broderick bear the male corpse back to the iron bed. Then I blew the oil-ash lightly upon the breast of the corpse. Dane asked, 'What is this for?' 'Wood-Butterfly and olive oil are both light of substance. The ash compounded of them is lighter far than the soul-revealing powder the Watch employs. It can reveal what else might not be seen,' I explained. Therefore, through the whole task, I dared not breathe hard, lest one breath blow the oil-ash from my hand to nothing. When the breast of the corpse was covered with a layer of oil-ash, I blew it off lightly. Nothing was found. Then I did the same upon the breast and belly of the female corpse. This time, when I had blown the oil-ash from the skin, there appeared beneath it a line of footprints. Yes, small footprints! 'These are...' Elara said in astonishment. 'Paw-prints of a cat?'

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